


And Risen

by bubbysbub



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Another quiet fic set in the Shire, Big bang 2017, Dwarf Bilbo Baggins, F/M, Female Bilbo, Fix-It of Sorts, Human Smaug, Lost Love, M/M, Multi, Reincarnation fic, The Big Bang Challenge, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:03:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbysbub/pseuds/bubbysbub
Summary: Bilbo is as Hobbitly Hobbitish as any other Hobbit. How can one be anything but content and happy when there are parties to attend, harvests to celebrate, and books aplenty to keep Bilbo company in her lovely Smial?Then comes the day that a dwarf comes knocking on her door. Now, Bilbo has two husbands she quite forgotten about, and the three are left teetering between their old memories, learning each other anew, and discovering just what there is for them for the future.Peeps know I can never make a trope fic go to plan- here is another Big Bang 2017 submission that went off on a tangent!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The last part of my Big Birthday Bonanza!! I have twenty minutes left of my birthday time off, and so here is me scrambling to get the last thing I wanted to do today done; another fic to play with!! Part of Big Bang 2017, though quite late, eh? 
> 
> I am scrambling to get through edits for this, but I have some surgeries that have been rescheduled for _next week_ , so I am sort of a frazzled chicken trying to get done what I can before I am bed-ridden for a while- meals for my family, arrangements for getting the kids to school, plenty of school lunches prepped, that sort of thing. I hope to be sitting with a laptop before long, so let's cross fingers that all that invalid time can be spent on ficcage, lols.
> 
> This... deviates from canon. A _lot_. Because I am playing with times and dates so very much, don't even bother looking at any canonical time lines in trying to place this story. Birth dates and ages are all but shot to buggery, and this story takes place a mere 50 years after Smaug came to Erebor, so, well. All buggered to heck for the sake of plot, yo.

In books, Bilbo found, in books, it was always plain as day.

In books, and tales of old, the hero of the story could always tell they were different. They never fit in with the people around them, they dreamed of more, they were frustrated or worn down by the mediocrity of their daily lives, and by that, the reader would know that this person, well, they were always meant for something more, that was obvious. There was no contentment to be found, because that was the place they were not meant to be content. Or at least, not until they had been whisked away to fulfill their fate.

In books, the main character would dream, dream of far off lands they were meant to explore, of the freedom of exploring the wilderness, of that One True Love that would come to sweep them away on that quest they had always known in the back of their mind that they were meant for.

Oh, there would be talk of reluctance, the hero feeling the bounds of their duties, or their station in life, but ultimately, there would be no reason for them not to throw themselves into whatever great conflict had arisen for them to be responsible for.

In books, a person's destiny seemed almost a crystal clear thing to grasp, a path to follow.

It was easy.

It was tosh.

Bilbo was quite content in the Shire, always had been. She'd wondered at going on an adventure, of course she had; she was well read on dashing tales of daring crusades and excitement, and any Hobbit with even a speck of Took blood in them was going to feel a little stirred by that sort of thing. Overall, however, she'd found adventure plenty enough to satisfy in her books and a few day-trips, picnics in the far fields, excursions with fauntlings to the north-east borings, fishing occasionally with cousins, even a day of boating or two. 

She loved Shire parties, and invitations to tea, and hosting both herself for relatives and friends. She was popular, and did not want for friends, and was adored by relatives, of which she was also well blessed. Bilbo had never really thought over much on marriage, other than to turn down a few offers, but really none of those offers had ever made her consider the matter overly much, and therefore, not worth considering. She'd never felt herself lacking without a spouse or children. Or even thought of their absence in her life much at all.

Of her living, Bilbo was talented, running her father's estates well. Her lands and enterprises prospered, she was kind and fair to her employees, and paid them well. Her profits were good, and kept her estate -and her pantries- bountiful. There was plenty for Bilbo to keep herself busy, and many things to enjoy when she was not, like her reading, her lace making, her garden.

Truly, she was one creature in all of Middle Earth that could claim to be truly content and happy.

Which made it all the more puzzling, really, when a Dwarrow knocked on her door. 

Oh, not the door knocking, really. She had befriended a Dunedain at the local inn one day, many, many years before, and he had taken to visiting every other year or so. When she had treated and wrapped an injury for him on a visit, she had found a few of his friends taking to popping about when they were injured and weary, and she never did have the heart to turn them away. They were so sincere in their insistence that injuries treated by her healed so much faster. She'd become accustomed to odd visitors every once and a while. One time, it had been an Elf! Her neighbours found the situation to be quite perplexing, but pointed the way to her Smial if any asked the way with not much more than a tsk and a rueful smile at her strange visitors. 

So, the Dwarrow was not the problem. Not really. The hour was not even a terrible problem, being that the sun was only just lowering towards the horizon, and she'd not even thought to think of starting her dinner. It was not so late in the afternoon for visitors, even if most would be finding their way home by now.

The problem was, well. There was much the matter really. It began about the time that Bilbo took one look at the Dwarrow in front of her, and instantly saw two images; that of the Dwarrow before her, and also the same Dwarrow, overlaid over the first with the most peculiar feeling that was almost familiarity, and almost adoration, and she took a step back in surprise, eyed widening in shock at the sight, one hand extended out to ward off something she could not name.

The problem persisted with the sudden feeling of _wrongness_. Like all speck of contentment she had ever experienced was a lie, or no, something else, not quite a lie, more like a soft blanket that had shielded her from a hurt that she never had even known that existed, and her breath caught in her chest at the pain of a loss she couldn't even explain to herself. 

Further the problem, was the absolute _bewilderment_ of the Dwarf at the sight of her. The shock and confusion on his face must have equalled her own at least, yet it was he that had knocked upon her door this late afternoon, and really he had no cause to be looking at her like that. Yet there he was, so very confused, and worried, and more than a little apprehensive at the warding arm she still held out, and quickly dropped when she noticed it.

"Dwalin," he said finally, after an awfully long time spent simply staring at each other in bemused confusion. He gave a little bow, not taking his eyes off her for a second, though he dipped low enough to have to look up to keep his eyes locked to her own, thoughtful, probing, still so confused.

She whispered his name to herself, turning the familiar sound over her tongue, and did not see the shiver that ran down his spine at the sound of it.

"Bil-" she started, and her breath caught, and Dwalin's eyes went wide and shocked as he straightened quickly. "Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins," she managed to finish, and his face, oh it was part hurt, part longing, part anger, and she was frozen, looking at this strange fellow she should not know, while a gnawing ache of anxious need clawed its way larger and larger in her gut.

Bilbo really wasn't sure how long they would have stayed there, staring at each other for all that time, if not for the rumbling of the Dwarrow's stomach, loud and demanding, and while he seemed to pay it no mind, it startled Bilbo, and all of a sudden she knew what was wrong with the fellow that stood before her, as opposed to the one in her head.

He was awfully thin.

Well, he wasn't _thin_ , by all that was good and real, he was broad and well-muscled, healthy enough, for a Dwarrow. But still, his cheeks lacked the good roundness that enough square meals a day would bring, and he ignored the sign of hunger from his body as if he were used to doing so.

His clothes, too, well-tended and as clean and well-kempt as any could keep themselves while travelling. Sturdy and durable. And yet, old, speaking not so much of poorness, but of a need to make do where possible, to tend and mend rather than replace.

Scars and tears in places there shouldn't be, a roughness and lack of polish that left her uneasy.

It was all so _wrong_.

Bilbo was moving without even noticing, analysing even as she boldly stepped into his space and unclipped his cloak, taking it to the peg while frowning at his bared arms- no matter how attractively it showed off his muscled physique, one cloak was not near enough cover to keep off the rain and the cold when needed, and she worried and worried, while she took his hand and nudged the door shut and led him off down the hall.

The sheer _heat_ of his hand in her own, burning like a brand, she ignored. It surely meant nothing. 

She pushed him to the table with a look and a gesture that meant dire things if he did not seat himself, and then promptly ignored him in favour of rummaging in the pantry for suitable items to feed the fellow. Thick slices of hearty honeyed rye bread, spread thickly with a liberal helping of soft cheese and carrot chutney were served quickly, and a generous wedge of cold chicken pie plated to go beside it, to sustain the Dwarf while she made him something more substantial. 

Dwalin seemed startled to be presented with a laden tray, with a large mug of ale to wash it down, and a plate of strawberries -picked fresh from her garden that very morning- for a sweet. Despite being startled at the presentation of food, it didn't stop him from tucking in, though, and she left him to it while she descended to the cold cellar, taking down a slab of smoked ham from a hook, the two dressed geese Farmer Hogg had brought her the day before, and a few thick smoked sausages.

He was a _large_ Dwarf, after all.

There were cold chickens in the larder if worst came to worst, and a few of Mrs Holburn's best meat pies from Market just this morning, and Bilbo herself had baked three sweet berry pies the day before. Some boiled eggs would not go astray, nor would a few roasted potatoes, some parsnips as well, she should think. 

If all else failed, she had pottage simmering in the back fire, made with a fine beef broth she'd prepared, thick with barley, and cabbage and pumpkin and carrots, herbs from her garden, and she'd chop _something_ from the meat cellar to add with some peas, if he was still hungry come supper time. Goodness, he might not have even had lunch, let alone tea!

By the time Bilbo had stirred the fires for her ovens up, and greased her trays for roasting, the Dwarf- Dwalin- had finished all she had placed out for him, even licking his plate clean, and she fetched a basket of scones and a few plums, and another piece of chicken pie, and set about stuffing the geese with some herbs and eggs and a few stale seeded rolls she'd thought to crumb some fish with that eve for her supper.

Geese would be a fine change, especially with a guest.

She felt him watching as she chopped and stuffed and scrubbed and set the roasts to the oven. His gaze was a burning thing, considering and suspicious while she sliced ham and sausage and a few loaves, assembling towers of meat and spinach leaves and slices of tomatoes with her preserves on each thick slice of bread, sliding one straight to him when he took his eyes off her long enough to look interested at the new lot of food.

He wrinkled his nose at the spinach, but stuffed the concoction into his mouth regardless, and hummed at the flavour, managing to snaffle another from under her nose before she smacked at his hand with her spoon.

"Fetch yourself another ale," she huffed, pointing off into the larder with the same spoon, before she dipped it back into her soused herring and wrapped the fish into another slice of bread, and stuffed it in her own mouth before she resumed slicing sausage.

Hobbits ate for many reasons. Usually for the pleasure of it. They were not above eating out of misery, though.

Or worry.

Or anxiety.

A stray memory that was not her own zinged through her mind and was gone before she could even remember it, but it made her breath catch, and she put her carving knife down slowly, holding on to the counter for balance for a moment.

Dwalin watched her from behind his ale mug, frown firmly in place.

"Is there... another one? Dwarf. Coming here?" she asked absently, the words feeling clumsy and thick in her mouth, staring at the bench like it might help her catch the uneasiness that alluded her and focus it into something that made sense.

"He's coming," Dwalin said, voice low and rough with something that made Bilbo's stomach twist itself further, and she watched him a long, long moment, before she started slicing more of the ham.

"Suppose he'll be hungry, too," she said, more to herself than questioning her guest, and he only looked at her strangely, in any case.

"What's his name?"

Bilbo started, almost dropping her knife, gaze darting back to Dwalin. It was the question that she had been thinking to herself, but she had not asked it.

"What's his name?" Dwalin challenged again, leaning over her bench top to peer at her closely. "The one who is coming. What's his name?"

"How should I know?" she said numbly, and pushed another loaded slice of bread at him.

"You know."

She ignored him, and set all her creations on a long platter, covering them a damp linen to keep them fresh. He plonked a mug of ale for herself at her elbow after she'd fetched butter and flour and ale-barm, as a few loaves of bread and some scones would not go astray, if this fellow ate near as well as a Hobbit did. Besides, he clearly needed the feeding.

Assuming that he intended to stay, of course.

(Not that Bilbo was really in doubt of that. Now that he was here, he was most certainly staying. 

Wasn't he?)

"Dwalin," she said to herself, whisking ale-barm and water with some honey. He'd seemed to enjoy the honeyed rye bread well enough before. She'd see how he liked it with fine milled wheat flour. 

"Dwalin," she wondered to herself, as she poured her liquids into the flour with one hand, her other mixing the dough together with her fingers, until she had a nice firm ball. Dwalin shot her a look while she covered the bowl and wiped her hands and set another bowl out to mix her scones, cutting butter and milk into flour without really seeing what she was doing.

"Dwalin," she muttered again to herself, absently reaching for the mug by her elbow and sipping at the brew within for a bit, before she drizzled the last of it into the scone mix with a good pinch of salt. A double batch of scones would really be best. Should Dwalin not be staying, or planning to return (a thought that almost made her gasp aloud at the pain of it) then she could take them round to her aunt's house on the morrow, and have tea with her. It had been a while since she had visited with Aunt Belba, and her aunt did always appreciate a chance to catch her up on family news.

"What's his name!" Dwalin roared, all of a sudden, slamming his own tankard down on the bench, grief and fury written across his face, and Bilbo threw her own mug at his head in frustration (vaguely glad she had finished the ale, as she quite didn't have the patience for cleaning right now) and went on with shaping her scones and brushing them with milk, shaking with anger.

"Please, Bell," he said, whispered really, her name sounding foriegn and familiar in the way that he shaped it, and she loaded her two large trays with the scones, and took them to the oven, sliding them on to the baking stones with the peel.

The scones would really only take minutes to bake, and she really had no desire to sit and wait. Moving and doing would go a fair way into preventing her from sprinting from the Smial and running hard and long, and never looking back. Biscuits would do nicely. This great hulking fellow pacing back and forth across her kitchen like some feral, caged beast looked like he might enjoy sweet things.

A cake. Something to go well with the jug of fresh cream tucked into the coldest part of her larder. And blackberry jam.

He retired to a seat in the corner for a bit, head in his hands while she mixed her biscuits and shaped them, swapping out the trays of steaming scones for the biscuit trays. She took a plate to set beside him, warm scones with fresh butter and fruit jam, and then ignored him completely while she mixed up a rather large cake, using up the last of the eggs as she did so; she scowled at the empty basket. She'd have to set it out with the milk jugs, and hope that her milker had some on his cart to leave her when he came past in the morn.

The bread was in the oven with the cake, and the geese and potatoes and parsnips well on their way to cooked by the time she stopped, hovering in the middle of the kitchen and admitting to herself that she really had nothing else to keep herself busy with.

At least, not in the kitchen.

"The wood pile is by the back door," she said, but did not look to Dwalin's corner of the room, had not, since she had brought him scones. "All the lit fires will need another log, at least, and if you're to stay, we'll need to stir a fire in one of the spare rooms for you. You can do that, while I make sure the linen is fresh."

"What's his name?" Dwalin asked her, and she stopped dead in the doorway.

"Dwalin..." she whispered to herself, gaze far, far away, in lands distant, foreign, so unknown...

"And Thorin," she finished on a breath, and left the kitchen, making her way down the hall to open up one of better spare rooms, steeling herself against the sobbing sigh that echoed along the hall behind her.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! I have so many reasons that I have been completely incommunicado for the last several months, but I'm exhausted just thinking about them, so let's not. I'm having an okay day, let's leave it at that.
> 
> Beta Beth ripped through half my writing months ago, and I'm only just now finding time to read through her notes and rewrite a few things. Mistakes remaining are from myself playing with things after edits. Inconsistent rambling is my poor brain not working 100% lately, sorry guys. I'm trying.

Her chest was thrumming. Thrumming like there was more than one heart beating away in there. Thrummed like her own heart was set to beat right out of her chest.

It was annoying, no- if Bilbo was honest with herself, it was unsettling, absolutely terrifying, and bafflingly relieving. And everything to do with the Dwarf wandering her Smial and the one approaching her home at a rapid pace.

(She should not know that. Bilbo should not know the pace at which that other one was coming.)

Her hands were shaking, and she felt about ready to pop right out of her skin, so she made a point of ducking away from Dwalin when she heard him coming, and busied herself with fussing over readying rooms for visitors.

The pillow cases Bilbo replaced, for despite the dried herbs placed around the room, and her lady coming to help her replace and wash all the linens every month, they still smelt a little musty to her nose. Nothing better than clean linens fresh from the cupboard, in any case.

Other than that, the room was in good order. She'd prepared another room for the other one coming, and ignored the part of her that knew with great certainty that the other one coming would not need the second bed. Bilbo was not yet prepared to admit to the vague memory of two heads resting so close together on a whole other set of pillows.

Dwalin did chores as Bilbo asked. He seemed to be moving in a state of shock, disappearing for a bit before returning with an armful of wood for the fires, and slowly, carefully, refuelling all the fires that were already burning. He'd lit the fires in both the rooms she had pointed out, as well, without ever seeming to notice what it was that he was doing. 

It hurt to see him such, and that was itself almost too much to bear. 

Bilbo knew, she _knew_ there was no point in avoiding the thoughts in her own mind that told her that all was not right. She could feel it, that thrumming buzz under her skin, emanating from the Dwarrow wandering her Smial, like a thread pulled tight between them and plucked at, vibrating and humming. Bilbo wondered if that was what brought Dwalin to her door in the first place, and wondered again if that was what was bringing the other one here just as fast.

He was coming. She could feel it.

She ignored it in favour of taking herself back to the kitchen, whisking her cream, unloading her frustration and the urge to scream that lingered under her skin on the bowl until the cream was thick and firm, and she could set it back in the pantry with the freshly baked cake to cool.

The geese were done, and she moved the roasting pans to the warming shelf and wrung her hands because there was no more cooking to be done, but she'd not be sitting now, not with a big burly Dwarrow prowling her halls, and another coming closer. 

He was _so close_.

Dwalin grasped her arm in the hall as she passed, bringing towels to the bathroom for her guests, more busy work than anything, and she gasped, almost dropping the thick cloths at the feel of it. 

"Bell," he said, low and rough, almost pleading, and she gasped again.

"Bilbo," she tried, desperately. "My name is Bilbo Baggins."

"Bell," Dwalin said again, and oh, he was almost here, they were both here, it was too much, _too much_ -

 

-  
_"You've torn clear through the seams," she said, flapping the tunic about in dismay. She'd personally had this tunic commissioned from the beautiful deep green silks the Easterners had brought to trade this past season. The embroidery had been done by a rank eight Master, in three shades of silver thread. It had looked so lovely._

_Dwalin squirmed when she turned on him._

_"Sorry, love," he mumbled, looking terribly contrite._

_Oh, she did want to be angry with him. Honestly, but he did look rather like a giant puppy dog, all soft eyed and morose looking, and she sighed and put the silly tunic to the side, and pushed him back on their bed with another great sigh._

_"I do wish you'd change to more appropriate attire before indulging in friendly wrestling matches," she huffed, and his pout grew, and he nudged her face with his own until she kissed him, and a grin split his face at the victory._   
-

 

The room was a lot darker than she remembered it being outside when she opened her eyes.

And she quite did not remember taking herself to bed.

Fully clothed.

Bilbo was quite starting to feel her own pangs of hunger, and she'd have liked a bath and a proper retire to bed, but that was all sorts of inconsequential considering she could _feel_ the Dwarrow next to the bed. Dwalin was in the corner, but this one, _Thorin_ , he was next to her, silent and still, and she just... did not know what to do, what to say.

She stayed still and shut her eyes again. Perhaps if they thought her sleeping, they would leave her be.

"Do you remember us?"

_Oh_ , his voice. It was low and rumbled along her spine like a thing long lost, because it was, not matter how she spun it, it was.

"Bell," Dwalin said from his corner, almost reproachful, and he had _no cause_ to be speaking like that to her, none at all, and she huffed. Any other day, that level of irritation would have her coming up verbally swinging, but this eve, she was just... 

Bilbo didn't know what she was. 

Perhaps this was shock.

"Why are you here?" she asked, and it came out as wistful, more than anything.

"Do you remember us?" Thorin asked again, and she sighed and finally turned to look at him, and oh, he was just as beautiful as she suddenly remembered, and none of this made any sense.

"Yes," Bilbo said, and wondered how true that was. How any of this could possibly be. "No. Yes?"

They were quiet for so long, but Bilbo could tell, from the ever so slight sighing sounds from the corner, that Dwalin was lost to tears, and Bilbo wanted to go and comfort him, wanted to wrap herself around him and shield him from this hurt, but she did not even understand what this hurt was, and how it was in any way her place to comfort him at all.

"How long..." Thorin started, and stopped, and Bilbo took the time to look, really look at this new Dwarrow by her bedside.

He truly was beautiful. They both were, and wasn't that a kick in the pants? So long not feeling a pull towards any Hobbit -not that she'd really noticed or cared one whit of- but these two were enough to make her soul sing and her body clench. 

"It was all a lie," she whispered, and couldn't help the few tears that slid silent down her cheeks. "I was so happy. So content, here. Then you came. It was all a lie."

Thorin flinched, and a wealth of emotion she did not entirely understand flashed across his face. There was fury, she knew that, and regret, and heartbreak.

She rolled away from him.

"Bell..."

"Why do you call me that?" Bilbo asked, voice half muffled by the pillow she brought up to hide away from the world behind. Even as she asked the question, though, she knew the answer. That had been her name, once.

Bél, daughter of... Jorn. And Héllnya. 

Thorin only sighed, though, and from Dwalin there was a faint noise that Bilbo just did not have it in her to identify. She stuffed the pillow even more firmly against her face.

"I'm hungry," she told the embroidered cotton, and that, that got her a huff of breath from Dwalin that was not laughter, but something fond and even relieved, and she sat up and glared at him, aware that she was rather red faced and dishevelled from rolling around on her bed.

Really, she should be rather upset that she was alone and vulnerable in her bedroom with two strange, large, very male Dwarrow, especially as she had rather vivid imagery of their... dwarfly bits -and what she'd _done_ with said dwarfly bits before- but it was rather hard to care. 

She'd married these lads, somewhere, sometime.

Bilbo huffed again, and shuffled off the bed, ignoring them for now in favour of her kitchen and _food_. 

"The geese will be dry by now," she grumbled, stomping in the general vicinity of her kitchen, ignoring the two moping silently along behind her.

She'd feed them. That was enough for now, surely?

The geese were indeed a little dry, having been left in the warming shelf for longer than really necessary, and the parsnips and potatoes had lost some of their lovely freshly-roasted crisp, though still a good golden colour, and she set about whisking a bit of flour into the goose fat along the bottom of the pan over the stove, stirring in a bit of broth to make a fine gravy. It really was the only way to save the meal, after all. And apple sauce. She knew she had a full jar of it on the shelf, tucked away at the back. Apple always went well with goose and would add a little needed moisture as well as helping to cut through the natural richness of the flesh. 

"Bél," Dwalin said behind her, and she snorted and gestured at the cupboards across the room.

"Plates are in the top cupboard, silverware below. Set the table."

They must both have realised the limits of her patience, as they moved to set the table with little argument, and Bilbo fussed about, carving geese and loading the serving plates, bringing everything to the table as she went. Being that they were both exceptionally large fellows, she went and fetched a meat pie to place in the centre of the table after all, and a few of the fresh loaves, whilst her guests very quietly saw to the silverware, and fetched a few mugs of ale from the pantry.

It was difficult to ignore the simple domesticity of the simple act of working together to place the evening meal, nor could Bilbo quite escape the familiarity that came with stepping easily about the two Dwarrow. There was ease, there, and a bit of relief, as if it were something that she had missed so very dearly, and it made her head hurt a little, so she sat with quite the indignant huff, and reached for the servers, plating up good sized portions of everything to the lads, and then adding a bit extra on top.

They were terribly thin.

For them. She knew that. She remembered what they were like at healthy.

They let her be while she ate, merely concentrated on their food, around shooting each other the oddest of meaningful glances, and Bilbo pouted and stuffed her mouth full of roast parsnip and gravy and loaded more food onto their plates when they seemed even slightly empty.

There was only so long any of this could be put on hold, she knew. Still, if she could avoid it long enough to feed them till they groaned (which they were actually starting to, and all right, so she had set out a fairly large amount of food for just the three of them) then she could busy herself with filling the sink for the dishes, and clearing the leftovers away, and perhaps earn herself a little time before they began whatever serious discussion she could see them formulating.

Dessert. Dessert first, perhaps?

Apparently not, as Thorin waited barely a moment for the sink to fill before he was dumping the dishes into the sink, and Dwalin was steering her out of the kitchen and into the parlour, and confound it, they were set on this whole talking thing. 

"I am not to be pushed about in my own home," she insisted, when Dwalin firmly set her towards the chairs pulled close to the fire, but her voice came out shaky and unsure, and a little high pitched for her taste, and Dwalin immediately took a step back, and Thorin appeared in the doorway, concern writ heavy on that face that Bilbo _knew_ frowned far too often.

Bilbo turned away, fingers pressed to her temple, head suddenly pounding under the stress. 

"I've a ghost in my head," she muttered to herself, and ignored the horrible flinches of the two across from her.

If she thought they would shrug that off and get right to things, Bilbo was in for a bit of disappointment, as while Dwalin took a seat across from her, Thorin dithered for a moment before he headed for the window farthest from them, settling in to what Bilbo recognised as his great brooding pose, though she felt a shiver of discomfort zing through her at the sight, and for a moment, she was terribly, terribly afraid. 

_Water rushing over her head, tumbling tumbling, and a roar that was not her own loud on the cliff above -hoarse shouts, steel on steel, and regret, so much regret she could weep with it-_

"Oh," Bilbo found herself saying, half out of the chair, hands clutched to her own chest where it still felt heavy with water. "I drowned, then?"

Dwalin gasped, and Thorin's back was suddenly ramrod straight, and Bilbo forced herself to sit, calm, because that was not her, not really, but it was, oh drat it, this whole debacle was a complete mess in her head!

"The drowning certainly didn't help," Thorin muttered at the window, and Bilbo was half poised to demand what in the blazes _that_ meant, when he turned. "But no, you were stabbed. And thrown in the river."

What was Bilbo supposed to say to _that?_

"Thorin!" Dwalin scolded, but Thorin waved an impatient hand and spun back to the window, back rigid, and expression fierce as he gazed out at nothing.

"Do stop that," Bilbo said. "I... don't like it."

"Don't like what?" 

Memories clashed and clamoured in her head in a confusing rush, and she rubbed at her temples or a long moment, and then shrugged.

"You were.... sick? Not yourself. You stood and looked like that a lot, when we could coax you into spending time with me. Us. It... it makes me...."

Thorin's face was stricken when he looked over at his shoulder at her, and his pose abruptly loosened, and then sagged, and he looked, oh he looked so _terrible_ , so ashamed, so _heartbroken_ , and it would have been so easy to go to him, to comfort and try to shield him from whatever hurt plagued him, but Bilbo held herself back.

Was it even her right to comfort him, anymore?

Dwalin had no such hesitancy -and why should he? He was still married to Thorin- and rushed to grab Thorin up and gather him close, whispering small comforts in his ear, though Thorin shook his head often at whatever it was they said.

"No, _no_ ," Thorin said, loud enough to draw Bilbo's attention, and he half tore himself from Dwalin's grip to sink to his knees before her, and she could not help the small flinch, she _couldn't_ , not after this ridiculous bombardment of a life that she had not remembered before this, not with everything she had been through in the space of a few hours, but Thorin flinched anew.

"Oh, Bél," he whispered, and Dwalin moaned, long and despairing at the broken tone. "I am so very _sorry_ , I cannot begin to express how sorry I am-"

"I don't understand," Bilbo said, and really, she felt numb again. "I don't, it's all too much, in my head, I don't remember enough."

Thorin's only answer to that was a pained groan, and he sunk his forehead onto her knees, and really, how was she supposed to ignore that?

He sighed when she dug her fingers into his hair and clumsily combed a few gnarls from the thick strands. His body loosened and sagged, and Bilbo knew, she knew that what he was apologising for was something she would not enjoy remembering, but for now, she ignored the painful knot of emotions from the fleeting memories, and pet the large, hairy dwarf half perched on her feet.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly. "I don't understand, and I don't particularly want to, tonight."

He nodded against her knees, and smoothed big hands reverently down her legs, before he seemed to realise what he was doing, and guiltily snatched them back, and Bilbo started in surprise, more at herself, as it had seemed so natural and familiar, she herself had failed to note that she had never actually been touched that way before.

In this body, that was.

She'd barely a moment to notice their oddly intimate positions, though, before Dwalin was there, gently hauling Thorin away with a face that was far too blank to be as unaffected as he no doubt wished he was. 

Bilbo sighed.

"I... don't understand," was all she could find to say once more. She was rather stuck.

Dwalin didn't seem to know what to say to that, and he simply rubbed his face tiredly, and tugged at Thorin, and Bilbo nodded, and abruptly smacked her legs in a most decisive way. The dwarves both eyed her oddly at that.

"Right," she said, and scooted over to the fire, to bank it for the night. Dwalin came and silently handed her a few small logs and the ash bucket and disappeared, and when she moved to the kitchen, they had taken care of the dishes, and the stove, and were clearing the last of the remains of their dinner/supper into the pantry.

"Bed," she announced, and snuffed the lanterns, and took herself off down the hall, ignoring the hesitant trod of boots behind her.

Bilbo hesitated herself, though, at the door to her bedroom. It was the room in Bag End she had lived in since a child; she'd seen no point in moving her things to the Master Bedroom upon her parent's departure from this world, and so she still maintained her smaller bed, built for one. 

She had prepared two rooms for the Dwarrow, both with the larger beds, built more for couples of ample size. 

It wasn't much of a choice, really, and once she had made it very firmly known that they would be _bathing_ before sliding themselves between her linens, thank you _very_ much, she waited until they were firmly ensconced in the bathroom with the tub of steamy water -steadfastly ignoring the knowing look of long-suffering affection that passed between the two- and then banked the fire in her own room, and in one of the spares she had prepared, and closed both rooms, changing into her nightgown and crawling into the biggest of the beds available to them. 

A minute or two of hesitation, and she placed a pillow in between herself and the rest of the bed; just because she had some rather vivid memories of indulging in some quite... enthusiastic (and ridiculously erotic, _goodness_ ) love making with these two, did not mean that she was ready to be diving straight back into intimacies with them. If they even wanted that.

Technically, this body was somewhat... virginal.

And quite different to the body she'd had before, from what she could recall. 

There was an awkward silence at the door of the bedroom, and she turned her frown on them, all still and hovering and damp (and quite bare, but for their braies, and goodness, that was a sight, wasn't it?).

"I had a beard," she said finally, after the three of them had spent a good few minutes merely _staring_ at each other.

"You did," Thorin said, and took a hesitant step into the room.

"Shut the door after yourselves, please. It's a cool night, best to keep the heat in," she ordered, and flopped her head back onto the pillow, frowning as she tried to concentrate on the shaky memories of her own self.

"My beard was long," she murmured, while they quietly shut the door and made their way to the bed, and then hovered on the other side like numpties. " _Do_ get in, already," she told them waspishly, her own nerves making her more than a little snappy.

"Why..." Dwalin started, and then stopped, and instead nudged Thorin into the bed ahead of him. Thorin did so gingerly, sliding carefully to the middle of the bed, but stopping short of her pillow barrier, and positioning himself with the care of one very uncertain.

Bilbo thought for a long moment, long enough for Dwalin to blow out the candles and join them in the bed, tucking himself under the covers and around Thorin, and falling silent and still with a sigh.

"I... did not even remember you until you came to my door," she said slowly. "But I find that now you are here, I believe I have missed you, like a dull ache that I never knew what it was to live without."

They both said nothing, still and silent in dark of the room, but Bilbo knew they weren't asleep yet. She watched the shadows from the low fire flicker and dance with the flames across the ceiling and walls for a bit, and then sighed.

"I'm not ready to be separated from you again, even if only by walls," she admitted. "It's all a mess of memories I don't understand, and I barely know you, really. But I can't be separate from you, tonight."

Thorin sighed, a soft thing, and Bilbo rolled away from them, satisfied enough that she could feel the dip of the bed, and the warmth of them even through her barricade of down pillows.

"Your beard was the exact same shade as your hair, the same as it is now. Toffee curls, glinting gold in the sunlight. You were beautiful as the dam we married, and beautiful now, as the Hobbit you have come back to us as."

Dwalin's voice was gruff and low, broken in a way that Bilbo knew meant that he was leaking tears onto Thorin's shoulder, but she sighed again, and closed her eyes and went to sleep.

***

_Bél did_ not _like the newcomer. Not at all._

_He was short, for a Man, and at first appeared quite sturdy, though Bél was sure now that he had made himself appear more Dwarvish when he had first come to them, and wasn't a speck really what he was, now that she'd had time to watch him._

_That was the start of the problem, Bél thought, that he had made himself so very likeable from the very start, from manner to appearance._

_That itself was not the most terrible of things; of course a newcomer would do his best to fit in and be welcomed._

_This was not like that._

_There was no doubt that he had power, and Bél did not like what he did with it._

_Of all of them, Thrór seemed the most taken with the fellow, and had taken audience with him several times over several weeks. Not unusual as such, but there had been something odd about the Man from the beginning, and so Bél wondered about this Man, that had managed to interest the King so much as to take time for him so often._

_Dwalin and Thorin did not seem worried about him at all, not at first. Weeks had already passed, and nobody but Bél seemed suspicious, as the Man seemed benign enough, content to quietly do as he had petitioned: research in the great library of Erebor, with tomes there that had come from far and wide. Bél had sworn that he would attempt to access the most sacred of their writings, salvaged from Khazad dum during its fall, but instead, he had indeed stuck to reading through dozens of texts from the far Eastern kingdoms of Man, more kept within the library for their rarity than for any true interest in their contents._

_He was educated and charming, and the royal family already favoured him, welcomed him in a way that was unusual for strangers. For one not of their race._

_It was insidious, how he had managed to worm his way into comfortable lodgings, strutting about the mountain with no care for worry or harassment, as he'd firmly scored the king's favour. Bél did not like it._

_Word had been sent that he was to dine with the King's family that very night, a high honour indeed, and Bél was dutifully sorting outfits for herself and her husbands that would convey the right grandeur that King Thrór believed this Man to be worth, but Bél was more wary than ever, and something that felt like dread nagged at her and set her heart to racing._

_She did not like this so-called-sorcerer, this Man named Smaug._  
  
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dearly promise that I am trying to find time to play with ficcage more- I have some more chapters of this sorted, most of it planned and plotted, and ideas to finish. Woods is still being tinkered at, and I actually pulled Epic out to play with the other day! My goodness. I'm still alive, and still trying to find time and brain power to write, kiddies, pinkie promises. A massive thank you to all of you who have left such lovely reviews and messages for me over the last few months. You've each and every one of you made all the difference to me, and I appreciate it. You guys rock.

**Author's Note:**

> More soon, folks!!


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